The Fate of Trunks
by Half Saiyan Half Human
Summary: Official sequel to 'Extra Cargo'. Trunks is now fourteen and Vegeta's plan of vengeance is going as expected. However, a painful past catches up with both of them, revealing Vegeta's secrets and leaving Trunks demented. This takes place in the time of Future Trunks. WILL BE DELETED SOON, READ NOTICE ON MY PROFILE
1. Trunks

Three months. It takes three months to get my Father to finally speak to me again. I'm outside and it's cold as a bastard. The wind is cutting past my long sleeved Capsule Corp. t-shirt like razor blades. I'm laying on top of our house, back against the curving metal and my training boots propped up on the antennae box. Father left three hours ago and as usual he's trying to do the right thing. Boring, sure, but all the same, my day is going kind of nice.

My life up until now was never that exciting. I never had to wonder whether some opponent was about to try and sever one of my limbs, jump at shadows, or fear of someone hunting me down. But I sure as hell been in battle. I know from experience all the weak points of the anatomical body. Spar hours on end with a man who's power could kill me. I can _feel _where a life force has been by sensing the heat trails they left behind. Detect the life force of a single ant eight meters in the ground. Reboot a long deactivated kinetically rechargeable power terminal and execute a low-level diagnostic program. But what's the point in learning all that if I'm never going to use it?

I lick the scar on my lip. He's never hit me in the face before.

Here it is, the day before I turned fourteen. The day it happened. My tongue grazes the 'birthday present' Father gave me constantly. I was wrong and I know it, but somehow I can't admit to regret it.

...

Father doesn't know I'm in here. But I sense his energy lingering closer and closer. I won't be long now. From where I'm standing, three feet away there should be a light switch. I can feel the heat from the wires in the walls lead me to it. With my fingers, I fumble the wall until I hit the button for the light.

_Zink_

He's coming home now. I'm sure of it. No sweat. As I trespass into my father's room, I use the breathing trick to be methodical, just like him. He must've rubbed off on me over the years.

_Funny_, I think when the chamber illuminates. With no hesitation, I tear into the room. It's clean as hell beside the long crack crawling up the wall. This is the first time I've ever been in here. All these years, he's locked it up as if he was hiding something. I was almost speechless when I found the light above the door glowing faintly green when Father left. I don't know what I was expecting, but Father's room looks as if it's never been inhabited. He was always a robust, wholesome man, but still. My natural instincts kick in and I feel like snooping deeper into his chamber. I ignore the growing, but faint energy of my father. That was a mistake.

"Oh man, this is _molto pessimo_." I whisper to myself with sarcasm. Even the slightest detail I need to assume that I father will notice, so I move gently across the room. The chamber looks exactly like mine except for the steel bars covering my narrow windows. Lacquered wooden floors, spotless. I look down at a trash bin with the word _Capsule Corp. _ embossed on it. I take a closer observation of the few pieces of furniture in the room. Everything but the bed in here is coated with a fine layer of dust. I stop and look at the short table shoved against the wall. Socks, boots, pants, shirts, gloves, knee pads, earplugs, bandages, space blankets, belts, and other stuff I don't even recognize are clattered neatly on top. I'm guessing this is what Father brings with him in those dino caps every time he lifts off and leaves.

_Bingo._

I find the container sitting in the nightstand with I slide it open. I squat down to it. I sense that this thing is important. It's gotta be if it's in here, locked up and such. A whole lot of grey and nothing stares back at me. No buttons or handles. No anything. Simply a slit bisecting the container. Yet another questionable thing I add to my mental list of my Father.

Now I'm thinking that whatever this thing holds is something Father didn't want me to find. Beautiful.

I lean in closer. With my index finger and thumb, I mash the container up and into my palm. Light weight. Even more secretive. The longer I hold it, I notice it heating up. Computerized. Those circuits are warming up as the box awakens. The mystery of the cube deepens even more.

"Hello?" I say stupidly.

_Zink._

I drop to one knee. I've been ignoring his energy so long that it hits me when he finally arrives. Father is home. _Crud._

I'm smart enough to know I don't have any time to escape. I frown and set my jaw and look back at the cube in my palm. I toss it back into it's drawer like acid. If acid could hurt me, anyways.

My quickened mind thinks up two ways out of this homicidal situation.

One: Tell him the truth. It'll either get me nowhere or he'll get embarrassed for mistakenly leaving his room unlocked enough to simply throw me out of his room. Impossible to be pulled off.

Two: Run out the house and out fly Father. _VERY _unlikely, but maybe I could take the opportunity to impress him? Always gotta find a little light in the bad situation of things.

I'm going to go with the second one, naturally. Better survival rate.

I dampen my energy, just in case it makes any difference. I hold my breath, without knowing and quick walk to the door. Half way across the room, my mind aches with more pangs of his energy. Rising and rising. I press my finger around the door handle and exhale slowly. I slide it open, squinting my eyes as he space between me and my freedom widens.

I was terribly mistaken.

Father grabs my arm right when we meet eyes. He shoves the rest of the sliding door in the wall and he swings me to the side. Without hesitation the jerk punches me in the mouth. My right upper canine cuts a clean gash in my bottom lip. My head smacks the floor with a snap when I fall back. He's still standing, but I just touch my lip with my finger; it comes away bloody.

"I thought it was never in the face," I say, panting clouds.

"You are _not_ supposed to be in here, boy." Father says, doing his best not to punch my face in probably.

I know this already. It's how he's always been. Still, I'm kind of stunned. He's never hit me in the face before.

My father's dark, shadowy eyes are trained my my mouth, calculating how much damage there was. He blinks and looks away. Nothing serious, I guess.

I licked the blood off my lip. Gross.

...

And I never heard another thing out of him since then until today. Still haven't the slightest idea what's in that cube of his.

The horizon bleeds red as the sun goes down. For about three seconds I lie still, listening to the wind. Best not to jump out of a comfy spot right away. The magazine under my head continues to crack loud noises as the pages flip wildly. I've been perusing that same read for about four months now. Can't say I like reading the same old thing in my free time. It's of some 'Mother Monthly Guide' trash. Talking about how all teenagers are practically the same, shit like that. Before the silent period, I used to sneak in little questions that I had of it to Father. Grades, shopping, and parkswere the only topics he said anything significant about.

Finally the annoying cold convinces me to head inside. Better catch a nap while Father's gone.

Still, I'm stunned at the random speaking up of him.

"You're going Super Saiyan when I get back, son."

Damn it.


	2. Gohan

"Ooh, Mom. Can we keep it? Please, please?" I ask, attempting to put a smile on my mother's face.

She pinches the safety on her MG4 machine gun, with one gloved hand. "Let's lump it home," She replies hollow, and I get moving.

As a Saiyan, I lock the crate in both my palms and haul it back to the mountains. Just to be safe, I call for Nimbus for Mom to climb on and she goes ten meters out ahead of me. Sometimes the shit in these things are unpredictable.

I'm watching the craters from small explosions pour on the grass plain like ant hills as Mom and I fly home. Each car sized craters is from the training I've been doing these last, hard years. It has been a nightmare filled with destruction and machines. Sometimes the days blend together into one seething, endless mass.

It's getting dark. With numb fingers, I easily slip out one of my hands as I fly and fumble my goggles down over my eyes. Up above, I see my mother sitting firmly on Nimbus, oddly quiet, incongruously clenching the fire arm in her arms. Just the honking of snow geese sound next to us as they glide over the landscape.

"Mom," I ask, still clutching the crate, during the last twenty minutes of flying back to the house. "It's going to be okay. We're going to be okay, Mom." I continue. But my voice rings empty even in my own ears.

A few minutes pass. " I don't know, honey." She finally answers.

I'm still not used to this - being the one to console my mother. I'm the one who used to get encouraged by her and Grandpa too. Mothers are supposed to be supportive and never get broken down, waiting to see their children to grow up like them. Instead, I'm the only one with anything to say now. The one to pep talk my family into getting through this, pay strict attention and keep my hands and feet ready at all times. It leaves me in total control now. I hate it. I don't want control.

A knot settles in my stomach as we accelerate closer and closer to the house and a knot settles in the middle of my back. I'm tensed. Once again, Grandpa creeps over in my thoughts. It's a thought I try to ignore as I focus on the flickering light of the house ahead of us

The world has changed over the last thirteen years. Our transportation, communications, our nation. Nearly fourteen years ago, my hero died. My father, Goku. Thirteen years ago, my bestfriends died. My mentor, Piccolo. Krillin. Tien. Yamcha. Vegeta. Even Bulma and their baby, Trunks. To make matters worse, we have no way of wishing any of these souls back. Piccolo has been silenced. As a ten year old the more incidents that I saw, the more the world began to feel muted, as if it could collapse at any moment. I cried a lot back then.

Then my Grandpa told me a story. He told me about how Dad saved the world for evils as a young boy. That when he even met Mom. He went on about Dad's abilities, giving me advice on things he heard about from when he talked to my father. And he finished by saying those words: Super Saiyan.

When he said it, I looked in his eyes and I _knew _what he meant.

Now we're running. Hiding. I am running to save the only people left in my world.

We're home now.

...

"Chi-Chi? Gohan?"

I scoop it out of my day clothes, the medicine.

I wave to him behind my mother as we enter through the door., flashing a smile at Grandpa, cloudy eyed in the bed in front of us.

"Dad, this is Chi-Chi. Your grandson found those pills you ran out of when we went out. Isn't he the best?" Mom says, scurrying over to her father and holding his hand in hers.

"Ooh, did he now?" Grandpa takes a moment to cough out a fit.

For the first time in months, I feel relieved. There is still hope in the bottle I hold out in my fingers.

"Sit still, Grandpa. Open your mouth."

The two pills I slip into his mouth are the only medicine that ever works on the pain anymore. He's dying. I can't admit it to my Mom. The Androids are going to take Grandpa too. Because they destroyed the cities, we can't reach the proper doctors. We won't even know of Grandpa dies of. It sickens me to know this. Just as I feel the energy of my foes, I can feel my mother's sadness of seeing his in the same bed as Father was when he died. We both think the same thing.

"I should go clean up what Gohan brought home..." Mom says. I look to my left and my mother facing Grandpa. Her face is warped and afraid. Tears stream down her cheeks and her mouth is shut. And then she's gone. That fleeting expression of hurt on her face stuck with me for a long, long time since Dad. It's back.

"Gohan," Grandpa's voice pulls me from my sad thoughts and into reality again. "How was the trip to the city? Over the radio they were talking about how there hasn't been one Android sighting for a month straight now. I bet you got yourselves some goodies." He hacks out a cough. I squat down next to him and smile. It's not fake either. Progress.

"We visited the Satan City Hospital, Grandpa," I say. "Got new supplies. No one has looted that place in years since the floors were caving in on them. Sorry we took longer than usual."

"How terrific, my grandson. And you used your flying to get to the places no one else could reach to get the stuff? Clever, clever." His voice is cheerful. It's always odd to speak with him when we're in a crisis like this. It's a good kind of odd.

I can hear Mom tinkering around with pots and pans. It's a nice sound.

"I'm just sorry we're the only ones with access to it. I mean, there still has to be survivors in Satan City..." A hand presses on my shoulder.

"Don't look like that, please," He says. I'm surprised at the seriousness on the edge of his voice. "Remind me later: We need to have a talk, Gohan."

It's a miracle that Grandpa has been talking this long. He usually huffs out of breath.

"Okay, Grandpa." I say, feeling like then ten year old again. He said those exact words after Daddy died. And I know what he's wants to talk about.

I force the memory out of my mind. "Good night, Grandpa. I love you."

"And I love you, Gohan."

I made it a long time, surviving with these two. Even now, I couldn't tell you how I managed to.

_Oh right, _I think, and a thought creeps into my brain as I walk out of the room.

It would have been Trunks' fourteenth birthday today.


	3. Secret Father: Trunks

Half past four in the morning.

I watch the clock arm tick past the thirty minute mark and sweat smears down my face, tickling my nose. My breath billows out in steady puffs. Briefly I sneak a side glance towards him. He glances upward, too, sensing my gaze, my growing energy. Clouds shadowed Father's already dark eyes. Always they were full of bitterness so bothering I had to turn away.

Gotta be careful now. I can't react. If I'm sensed by one of those bots, I'm minus a finger, best case. And the heat of my energy blasts will initiate their trigger state to self-destruct. No sweat. I know from experience that each side of the floating robots contains a deactivate button. That's what I'm aiming for.

"Afraid I'll see you fail, boy?" He asked without mercy, studying me through the window of an observation room. I was accustomed to this, but still I recoiled inwardly. Wisely, I remain quiet. Heat off my breath could trigger the robot's temperature monitoring mechanism. Boom. Although I'm not so concerned about myself as much as Father's training chamber. A half second later, I hit the ground like a stone in the four hundred fold gravity, evading the bot that hurdles itself towards me. My knee joint absorbs most of the initial force, bending my body forward into a roll. Taking better cover from the other side of the room, I exhale. I don't even bother to glance up again. I feel the bot grappling towards me, with the other two suspended in place, but in my gut I feel their cross hairs trained on me. This is a diversion. A trick. Boring, but all the same, I like the strategy part it this game.

I catch a flashing light out of the corner of my eye. That's new. The bot's going to self-destruct soon. He put a timer on those drone bastards! If I don't push the deactivation button now...

"Aye!" I cry. The next moment something shoves between my shoulder blades and I fall forward, cheek on the tile. With a free hand, I catch the hunk of metal that pushed me and tear it backwards before it spun back for another round at me. I can hear the mechanical grinding sounds. A ragged hole gapes where the button used to be.

I beam to myself. "Haha!"

_Two more to go._

I'm guessing the shut down process will require forty-five seconds, minimum. It's already been twenty. I don't think now: I react.

My next moves will have to be entirely somatic. Minus the natural Saiyan strength and pain resistance, I fight plainly. I deduct my only disadvantage is my height right now. I plow my body towards the bots and without hesitation I raise my right foot straight up and bring it down with all my weight on the top of the front one. With a gripper sticking out from under the other one, I catch it and clamp down. I can't help but smile as I hear the machines' gear grinding against it's own metal. I reach up behind me and bury my free arm straight on the other gripper. The robots' cameras scan frantically around. I'm in their blind spot. I pull my knees up and my legs close and tight. In half a second both my fingers jut out at the deactivation button on their sides.

_Click_

All three of the dormant robots suddenly yank to the floor, giving into the intense gravity. Their sides crumble up like tin cans against the infrangible floor.

"Time!" I shout.

Silently I stand. Bandages dangle from my wrists and ankles, completely destroyed, revealing my clumsiness and careless hits. Ugh. I make a mental note to clean up my attacks. There's nothing more annoying than twisting those damn things on just to have them rip apart in the first minutes of training.

I hear a metallic clink and the metal lock unsecured itself on the observation door.

"How long was it?" I ask, wanting to hear I beat my current record of three minutes against the practice drones. A burst of cool air blows from a vent from above.

"Too long." Father replied through the intercom, somewhat crossly.

I frown, forehead pressed against my shirt I hold up to my face and wipe what little sweat is clung on it. "What else are we doing today, Father?"

"All the things you need to catch up to, son." He says dryly.

"How much of it includes _robots_?"

"Plenty of it."

If I could roll my eyes and get away with it, I sure would. He is a proud man. He won't stand for being disrespected. But all the same, training with these not-so-simple machines were a bore. Hell, even sparring with my Father one on one is getting plain nowadays. Especially when I can feel he isn't putting forth much into it, even as a Super Saiyan. Couldn't he tell I wasn't gaining anything new from this? Isn't there more to life than this? The motivation of finally becoming a Super Saiyan hasn't even been invigorating as it had when I was a boy.

"I know what you're thinking, Trunks." Father says laconically, inside the observation chamber. I doubt that he does. Our dark black and blue eyes briefly meet. I snort and risk his anger by retreating towards the doorway. From the light tone of his voice, I take the chance to weed out a break.

"I'm starving. Got anything to eat?"

...

Father didn't join me at the table, and for that I was grateful. I joke to myself that maybe Father actually felt guilty from what happened before. Of course, he isn't. But something _is_ different with him. I'll bet if he had the opportunity, he'd sock my face in again. Now that I think about it...

Over the years, I grew suspicious of the man who raised me. I always knew he was hiding something. Hid things. The best part is I believe what I found in his chamber has a part to play in the mystery of Father. Just thinking of it gets me excited to have something other than training to challenge myself with. Breaking back into his chamber.

I finger the scar on my lip. How can I forget what happened last time?

I slip another plate full of beans down my throat. The kitchen is dark except for one overhead light. I hear the second hand patiently tick-tick-ticking. It's nearly five a.m. now. Our home administrative brain deactivates most of the electricity in the house when we need to use the training chamber. The bell on the microwave dimly chimes. The frozen chicken's been cooked. Speaking up, I can't imagine how Father manages to find all our food either. Those capsules in the room down the hall couldn't have feed me every meal for these last fourteen years.

The thin wall quivers as I scarf down my meat straight from the microwave. I suspect right now he's using his time meditating to the intense gravity, concealed away in that damned gravity room.

I slip out the threshold of the kitchen and into the hallway, leaving the rest of my morning snack behind. The wall lights are off. My cotton socks are silent on the thin tile floor. I feel the air pressure fluctuate, the pulsing of my father's ki is rising. I stop. My nerves tell me to go back. I shouldn't risk breaking his concentration just to watch him there.

Forget it. I've spied on my father many times when I was a boy. I'm a _man_ of fourteen now. At the corner of the hallway leading into the observation room, I lean my back against the wall. I peek around the edge with one eye. The room illuminates with him, glowing gold, his surrounding aura encircling his body in his cross-legged sitting position. He's wearing nothing but shorts and bandages to match mine earlier. His skin, well tanned, appeared sweaty. I wonder to myself how hard he must be pushing himself and how many times gravity he sits in. His hair is long and blonde, spiking upwards and perfectly straight; muscles ripped as he cringes them at his sides. The power that I sense of him makes my spine shiver. Super Saiyan.

I haven't a clue about how Father achieved this much being as young as he was. Thirty-five? Forty years old? I never knew his age. I almost break silence and laugh to myself as I think of him when he was my age. Did _he_ have a father to raise him as he's raising me?

"Heh..."He couldn't have just landed here on some space ship from an entire different planet! Again, I find myself adding to my list of mysteries. I could probably manage to talk with him and slip in some of the many questions I have of his past. Gave him some real awe-inspiring body scars by the looks of it.

After a deep breath, I step into the observation room. As expected, Father notices this and blinks open an emerald eye. Before this ends badly, I push in the intercom button and grin up at him. "Man, you've _got_ to show me how to do that!"

a/n* Finally, an update. Thank you all for reading and for those of you who review THANK YOU 10x, you know who you are! Please, read Extra Cargo if you haven't already. I'll love to see more reviews for this story too. Criticize me, praise me, I don't care, it's just nice to read what you have to say. ;)


	4. Three Months Later: Gohan

I still wonder if I was a fool to listen to Piccolo.

I'm a Saiyan after all. I've fought in the past. I remember Goku, with his dark hair flaring up blond on Namek; a tall man who called me his son and who I called Dad. I don't remember his face nearly as well as the warm and safe feeling he gave me. I guess the saddest thing about him being gone is that I know there is no one large enough, strong enough to pick me up, tell me it's going to be alright and give me that secure feeling again. Even though I was only ten years old on that day, could it have been possible? Even - make a difference to fight?

_"Keep it together, Gohan!"_ Piccolo had said his voice was rising, becoming more callous. He paused to gentle his tone.

_"No more tears. Don't lose track of why you're still here."_

I kept staring with wide eyes up at him and swallowed a lump that risen in my throat. Naturally, I flinched at the edge of seriousness in his voice. Almost, I was convinced to leave on spot as I was told. I stopped myself. In that moment I felt it was my chance to finally grow up. I couldn't let Piccolo die! Dad wouldn't have allowed it.

_"Piccolo!"_ I cried and seized hold of his bicep. _"STOP IT. Are you hearing yourself right now?"_ I wanted to throw off my weighted training armour and join the battle and be the real warrior my father had once been.

_"There's no time for me to escape,"_ My Namekian mentor said flatly turning towards me. He grabbed my wrists and pinned my arms to my sides and I sobbed. _"I have to fight, or die trying."_ He released his hold enough for me to flutter my hands up and wipe my eyes.

I heard a grunt and a distant scream from a familiar voice above me. The sound paralyzes me. I remember Dad's tired blood shot eyes laying on his death bed and I can't move. The city crumbles around me, with large, gaping holes in the buildings, with smoke rising towards the sky. I fought the urge to not look above. I felt my throat closing up and making it hard to breathe.

The screeching pushes me to snap open my eyes. Like metal on metal tearing and twisting. _"What just happened?"_ I asked. Sirens pierced the moment. There was an ambulance or a fire truck somewhere. I struck a look at Piccolo. He's looking up. I followed his eyes.

The air is sucked out of my lungs. My mouth hung open, numb. Dropping down through the air is that familiar silver vehicle of hers. I knew she only came to see the battle, but she wasn't expecting to be a victim of it. The front seat, I could tell she's screaming. I hold my breath. She looks up at her husband and back at her son, Trunks. Her face is warped with terror. Tears stream down her cheeks and her mouth is open and I realize that Bulma's screaming and pounding her fists on the dashboard. The windshield bears a spiderweb of cracks where the Android must have hit on impact.

And then I catch a glance to the side of Vegeta, still alive and fighting. His face is twisted into a snarl from the effort of blocking punches from the blonde Android. Vegeta is totally taken off guard. His eyes beam to the falling vehicle and without hesitation, back to the Android attacking. _Why isn't he helping them?!_ He fires another blast that rattles the blonde to the side. Behind him, the second Android snaps a kick into his side. The first one takes hold of his armour. With her other hand, she makes a fist.

There's only one punch.

Vegeta goes down like a stone.

And then, there's the last thing I see. That last thing that I never wanted to see. Didn't ask to see.

In the passenger window. Two pale little palms, pressed hard against the glass. Pushing.

Pushing so hard.

I drop to my knees. Bulma and the baby are gone.

Maybe it never happened. Maybe I imagined it.

_"No,"_ Piccolo shouted. _"No!" _Then something comes crashing to the ground. Tien. There's a deep, bleeding crater in his upper thigh. More explosions rip through the air from the Androids. I can't get a straight look at them. I hear Krillin start screaming from somewhere ahead of us. _Oh no, not Krillin too... _Yamcha is yelling again. Tien isn't moving anymore. Yamcha is beyond screaming now. I see the cords of his neck stand out and his face is pale with blood loss. Disbelief flash over his face. I didn't think that the human face was ever designed to convey the amount of pain he was in at that moment.

A red energy blast soars down from the second Android. Straight at Krillin. There's blood running down his face. A hollow thud rocks his body as the blast reaches him and explodes. What's left of him bounces off the side of mangled concrete in a massive convulsion. My hands are shaking.

_"Their dead,"_ I say out loud to myself. I hear a splatter and inhale the sharp scent of my own vomit. I don't have time to wipe the puke off my lips because out of nowhere, Piccolo pushes me back with a strong shove and faces down at me. His black eyes drill into mine. I see that he's fighting off the urge to leave me and join the battle. My face is numb with adrenaline and my arms are rubbery and weak. Why can't I push myself and fight? I can hear myself breathing, panting.

_"You're strong, Gohan. I believe in you. And I know you will be the one to avenge us one day."_

I do my best to straighten up.

_"I don't like where this is going, Mister Piccolo."_ Then he turned and leaped into the air in one motion.

_"Survive to fight." _The last time he did something like this, it made me grow up stronger. I used to hate him for it, but I understood. No matter how much I whined as a kid, I couldn't avoid growing up to be like my father. But chaos is coming, and only a man can lead Earth to victory.

If I fly for most of the night, I should be home by dawn. My hope is that the rest of them will survive long enough to make it home, too. I begin to walk backwards, then swing my body around and start to run.

_"Don't get killed!"_ I called over my shoulder. Why did I let him do that?

And the last thing I see still haunts me to this day. His eyes, wide and angry and black, connect with mine. It's Vegeta and I can tell what he's thinking. On that day, I ran away...

...And here I am.

Mom surprises me out of my thoughts at dawn. I'm visiting Grandpa's grave, sitting on a log next to the boulder that marks it. I open my eyes and push my elbows off of my knees. Looking up, I see her face. Oh yeah. Right. I think I was supposed to do something...

I've been spending most of my time here every morning for the last three months. I'm still not used to Grandpa being gone. Doesn't matter though. Whether I get used to it or not, I'm never going to see him again. Me and mom found him dead in his bed. I think it was that disease that got him in his sleep. We carried him out here and buried him. And that was that. I left my mom alone in the house for a couple days with a lot of tear-streaked makeup.

"Let's go if we're going, Gohan honey," Mom says and passes an apple in her hand. This woman is packed and ready to go. She's dressed like a rogue in boots. This small woman is absolutely intent on us remaining alive, and it's clear that she will do anything to have it stay that way.

She's a born survivor.

I beam at her and take a bite in the apple. She smiles. There's something in her eyes, a glistening wetness, that doesn't match her smile. I'm twenty three years old and I know she's thinking of Dad. She sees him in my face.

a/n* Thank you for reading. I intended on writing more, but... I'll save it for the next chapters. Review please!


	5. More Than You Know: Trunks

_"You're going Super Saiyan."_

Bullshit.

The next few days our new routine was already beginning to feel almost boring. Each morning, I tore through new robots, always faster and sharper than the day before, but never quick enough. Father and I then slam each other in the gravity room the follow few hours non-stop, lashing out on one another. If nothing else, I think Father only does to mess with me. I never seem to win. However, I don't exactly take the sparring too seriously...

The rest of the day, I'd rotate through outdoor practice, with Father looking for something to push me to ascend to Super Saiyan. Father tries to teach me more about a Super Saiyan, but I found out real quick I wasn't interested in anything of that crap anymore. At least he didn't complain, even when I had the balls to roll my eyes during his lectures. I end up telling him not to worry, I've heard it a million times before.

I couldn't bare to have another boring day of useless training. I wasn't feeling any difference with this _Super Saiyan_ version of it. Yet it was 4 am and I probably couldn't fake another food poisoning episode to get out of it. I was three steps from the bedroom door keypad when I heard him from the other side.

I take a deep breath and open my mouth before the door slid open.

"Yes, Father?" I stick my finger on the monitor and I see him. He meets my eyes and a flash of seriousness flood into me. We stare at each other for a few awkward moments.

"You haven't been giving me your all for a while now." He finally speaks. His tone makes me hesitate. Oh, wow, you finally noticed, huh? I widen my eyes as if to seem surprised.

I open my mouth, but he didn't wait for my answer. "No more half-assed work today."

"Why would I need to work harder?" I respond without a thought. It comes out harsher than I mean it to. He stares at me. I imagine he was going to say, _You have no right to question me, child. _or_ Did you just say what I think you just said?_

Instead he asks. "Why do you ask?" I swallow hard.

His voice was tight, as if he actually was interested in something other than training. All I could think to say was, "I mean I don't really see the point..." I add hastily. " I know this is for the sole purpose to level up Super Saiyan, but I feel no different everyday. It feels as if... as if I have nothing to gain out of it." I pause. "Like maybe, I don't gain anything out of it." Don't know where any of that came from. My father's eyes warn me and I stop myself. He turns his face to the side slightly and his expression show as if he was already anticipating my response.

"So," I say, anxious to change the subject. "I'm, uh, ready to work, Father." I say evenly, forcing the sarcasm out of my words.

"You say all that as if all I've done for you was for nothing, Trunks. But you don't realize how important you are." This catches me off guard. For a moment I thought I could see something other than cruelness in his black eyes. But then his regular look return, and I figure I must be mistaken.

"Um... What do you mean exactly?"

"That doesn't matter right now."

I feel my eye twitch. "It doesn't matter? I've accomplished nothing my entire li-" I regret the words as soon as they came out. I had always assumed we were never going to stay here our entire lives. Father had never said it outright, but still, I'd felt I was right.

"That's not true, son." He says, probably fighting the urge to lecture me. I feel angry at my father now. Maybe it was stupid, but I resent him for forcing into doing what he wants me to do, for not having the guts to tell me why I was even doing this.

I finally get up the nerve to say it. "Why am I doing this, Father?" My eyes tug at his conscience, trying to pull out his secrets. He grits his teeth and his expression darkens.

"You will learn soon," He pauses, as if he was choosing his words carefully. "There still are things you..._ we_ need to do before you give up like a coward. But for now... until we know more...I would urge you to put anything other than our goal out of your mind." I'm not quite ready to let the subject drop.

I shift my body. "What do you mean, 'There are things I need to do'?" Father turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of anger in his eyes. I knew that if I pushed him, Father would show me worse things. "Would you like to test my patience, child?" he says quietly. I close my jaw and decided against pushing him farther.

"No. No, sir."

He told me to go eat my breakfast.

...

Once I got over the fact that I just back talked Father and still had the gift of breathing when I left, I tied on my boots and went into the kitchen. I attack the mash potatoes after taking them out of the microwave and slap down on a bar stool. I remember Father's serious expression, his battle scarred eyes. _You will learn soon_. Is this more bullshit I'm sensing? I'm not sure why, but I kind of have the feeling that maybe I should believe him after all.

I take a breath. I pick up an apple and bite into it while mid way chewing through my chick leg. I was sick of this regular routine. Eat, train, eat, train, train, train, take a much needed shower, train, pass out on in my room and repeat. I wanted to be outside with the sky, fly out of here and even away from him and his obnoxious speeches and his stupid training fasts.

And yet... there would be things I'd miss here. The view of the trees out my dorm's window, the hum of machines when it's quiet, the smell of food roasting in the microwave each break time.

As the clock rang for the ten minute warning for start of my morning robot exercise, the talk was still in my mind. Maybe if I talked to him, I could sneak a few hints of what bothered him so much earlier. At least I could apologize for the crappy training I was about to do today. I don't want to leave him thinking I hadn't tried at least. Because I sure as hell was going to leave this place.

Earlier than usual, I stalk down the hall to the observation room, finishing the apple in my hand. It was dark and empty, but Father's door was slid half way open, the fading light from his window stretching across the hallway floor. I hear a voice instead his room. I smile to myself and choke down the giggle in my throat. Does he seriously talk to himself when I'm not around? As always, I keep my energy low and invisible, just as he is with his.

A voice that was definitely Father's says "...nothing can motivate him."

I freeze.

I'm usually not the one to eavesdrop on my father... Well, no, that's a lie, actually I am. I inch closer.

"..only you were here," He continues. "Forgive me."

The apple core almost drops out of my hand and I grab it before it hits the floor. Father goes silent.

My heart hammers. I grip the core and back down the hall.

A shadow slides across the light in the door, holding something that looked suspiciously like the cube I discovered before.

I open the observation room door and slip inside. A bead of sweat tricks down my temple. A thousand more questions scuttle into my brain. Who was he talking to? Does he do this all the time? Why does he keep so many things from his own son? Am I even his son? Who did he want forgiveness from? Was he talking about me? Who is _'you'_?

The light goes out as he locks the door. He boots click against the floor and he walks down to get me from the kitchen. I wait in the dark what seems like forever. Finally, when I feel the coast is clear, I slip out into the hallway and rush my way counter clockwise through the hall and made my way back up to the kitchen. Thank god for circular homes.


End file.
